


Nevertheless, She Persisted

by nucifera



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Dubious Consent, Female Tony Stark, I'm sorry that I made that a tag, non-consensual abortion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 16:45:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19360798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nucifera/pseuds/nucifera
Summary: Antonia Stark and the men in her life





	Nevertheless, She Persisted

**Author's Note:**

> So this is just a short thing I came up with because I love the relationship between Tony and Peter. Spun in a different direction for the final cut, but I'm okay with that.  
> Unbeta'd so the transitions and cuts are a little jumpy.  
> Dubious Consent is dubious because it's underage and extremely unhealthy

Her younger years were characterized by desperation. Her father had been desperate for a male heir and her mother had responded in kind. Young Antonia had been desperate for recognition from her parents, desperate to be enough for them--and eventually, more than enough for them. The desperation inside of her felt like an ever present fire tickling at the edges of her brain, under her skin. It screamed at her father, “Look at me!” and at her mother, “Why don’t you love me?” Her desperation was never soothed, never tamed, always itching at her, driving her every action. When she built her first circuit board, she had felt it soar inside her, had felt dizzy with it as she presented it to her father. It colored her vision, she was so pleased and hopeful and expectant.

But instead of joy or love or pride, she was met with anger and disbelief and betrayal. That soaring high that she felt, desperation soothed by confident expectation and aspiration, roared like an inferno inside of her. The high had been a wave, and if she had been surfing on it then, she was drowning in the bitter reality of it now. The yearning for her father did not abate, and at the tender age of four, that desperation for love became a critical part of her worldview. His desires, his plans, his directives became paramount in her life, and she drove herself with the desire of even a single utterance of praise from his lips.

By 15, Antonia was graduating from high school and had not received anything to soothe that desperation. It was as if the heat of it had dried her up completely, changing the landscape of her soul, leaving a desert where there should have been a forest. Antonia at 15 was hungry for praise, and when her figure began filling out and Uncle Obie’s eyes began lingering on her, she felt her heart flutter in response to him. It was like dry ground swallowing up meagre drops of spilled water; she was dizzy with the thrill of it. Uncle Obie began lavishing gifts on her, circling around her, praising her. She loved it, and she wanted more of it. 

And when he began touching her, when he kissed her for the first time, she had felt that soaring desperation once again, and she felt afraid. She was afraid of what could happen to her if she was met with disappointment like had happened so many times with her father. She was afraid of failing and afraid of losing this new source of love. 

And so she leaned into the kisses, eager for whatever Obie had to give. She did not stop him when he touched her in places no one ever had before, opening herself up and offering him her everything. She did not cry out when he entered into her, kissing him fervently as he palmed at her naked breasts. 

They spent the summer after her graduation christening every room of his new house in Massachusetts together. She loved him, and she was convinced that he loved her. They were going to continue seeing each other while she was at MIT; he told her to stay at his house in his bed rather than the dormitory her father had arranged. She agreed. The flame of desperation inside her curled lazily in her, sated with Obie’s words of desire. This man wanted her. This man loved her. She was happy.

And then MIT started. And in the midst of classes and changing environments, Antonia looked up one day and noticed that the box of tampons she had bought three months ago had not been opened. She couldn’t remember the last time she had gotten her period. She had been overtired recently, sure, but she was 15 years old at one of the best universities in the world, she reasoned. But she went out and bought a test anyway, feeling giddy at the possibility of it, and felt her excitement mounting as she waited for the test to work. 

She could have her own family with Obie, she realized. It didn’t matter what her father said or did, Obie loved her. He would protect their baby. And she would raise it and love it and her and Obie would be husband and wife and she would be loved. So when the little stick showed that she was, indeed, pregnant, she gave herself a moment to lay her hand over her still-flat stomach, and swore that she would love her child. 

That night, as she lay in bed next to her beloved Uncle Obie, she told him the news. And she felt her hope flailing as he pulled away from her, saying that he needed to make a phone call. But then he came back and scooped her up in his arms, telling her that it was going to be alright. He kissed her and entered into her in one motion, and soon Antonia forgot about that momentary disappointment and fear that she had felt, letting herself get lost in his arms.

Antonia had woken up the next day to an empty bed and food on her bedside. She wasn’t hungry, but it was so rare for Obie to make her food that she ate it all, despite the bitter taste of it. She hadn’t had classes that day and so she stayed in the house, thinking of baby names for her daughter or son. 

Until she started cramping. It had started off small, just a twinge in her abdomen, but then it got worse and Antonia had panicked, calling a taxi to take her to the nearest women’s clinic. She had wanted to avoid the hospital, too many eyes and ears who would be swayed by draw of her famous name. In the clinic, she began to bleed, and with the blood rolling down her thighs, she began to cry. The nurse at the clinic held her hand soothingly, asking her questions about medications and her lifestyle, explaining that she was losing the baby, that she was sorry, whether there was anybody whom she could call. Later, when it was over, the doctor came in to examine her, asking again about whether she had taken anything. Antonia didn’t understand, tired and weary as she was, until the doctor told her with hesitating words that Antonia’s miscarriage was very consistent with something one would see with an abortion pill. Antonia had been experiencing so much pain because the dosage had been very high, and there was a risk of damage to the uterus that they could not determine at the clinic.

She had gone home and cried in Obie’s arms and soothing comfort that night, unable to process anything. She could not reconcile the Obie who she loved with the father of her child who had killed their baby. He acted as though it was just a miscarriage, as though he had nothing to do with it. But he had killed their baby. He had put her at risk. He didn’t want a baby with her. He didn’t want a family with her. 

So when he drew away from her she didn’t complain. His praises had turned to poison, his kisses felt like knives at her throat. She started sleeping more and more in her dormitory rather than his house, and he started spending less and less time in Massachusetts. She heard from her father’s secretary that Obie was being put in charge of their expansion into the West Coast, and smiled agreeably when he ended things between them. She let him move on, and let him think that she moved on as well.

But Antonia never forgot. And she never forgave. And she cursed herself for her desperation, cursed her father for his callousness, cursed her mother for her indifference. She swore to herself that she would make something of herself, for herself. That she would not betray the memory of her baby. Her heart had been broken, but she would survive this. Even if they threw her away, hurt her, abused her; even if they didn't want her, it didn't matter. She didn't need them. She built life with her hands, creating robots and artificial intelligence and working endlessly on the defensive aspects of Stark R&D. 

She met Pepper in her inbetween phase, where she was still learning what she was worth, still learning how to say no to men, still not quite sure how to move forward without a man pointing her where to go. Antonia had helped her out of a bad situation, and in her gratitude, Pepper helped Antonia get herself back on her feet. The two became attached to one another, past saving one another, and Pepper became Antonia’s most trusted friend. When her parents died, Pepper had stood by her resolutely, defending her against the manipulations of Obie as he maneuvered to take advantage of her sorrow. She stood by her as she took over the company, acting as her assistant in all matters and being a pillar to lean on when Antonia could not stand firm in the storm. 

She met Happy and then Rhodey later on, working with them first, gaining their respect as professionals before moving into easy friendship and deep affection. She continued building continued innovating, continued pleasing the board with her inventions and the public with her antics. 

Obie wasn’t pleased though. Obie was never pleased. She had not cooperated with his plans to manipulate her, and she had been slowly edging him out of the company; undercutting his influence, buying out smaller shareholders. He had realized that Antonia was out of his reach, and it frustrated him to no end. And so Afghanistan and the cave happened, and Yinsen died, and he tried to kill her. The man who had once upon a time been her everything, was actively trying to kill her. So instead she killed him and Antonia became the Iron Maiden. And standing in front of the reporters, knowing that Obie was dead, knowing that he could never get close enough to hurt her again… she declared to all who she was and had never felt so free. 

* * *

 Antonia Stark loved Peter Parker. She loved him with all of her might and all of her soul. Obie had ensured with the pills and Afghanistan that she would never carry a child. But that could not stop her from loving this one whom she had found, this one who she claimed as her own. He was precious to her, as precious as her own creations; as precious as all of the loved ones that she held dear. His joy, his eager and affectionate love for her had been a shock to her system, had brought back an old ache that she hadn’t realized was still there. And sometimes, when she looked at him she could see an afterimage of black hair over brown, tan skin over pale. 

But she loved Peter Parker and knew that she could not have raised him. Her and Obie were never a family, and her child would have suffered under Obie’s machinations. No, Peter was pure of that, he was good and kind and untouched by her family ambition and legacy. She loved him as if he were her own, and the day that May allowed her to have guardianship rights over him was the happiest of her life. And she looked at his boyish smile from time to time, and she knew: this was her joy, her love, her pride.

**Author's Note:**

> Made the executive decision to switch Rhodey's backstory with Pepper, because I love female friendships and I thought that it worked better than Tony jumping from an unhealthy reliance on one man to another.


End file.
